A Welcomed Visit
by Kibeth5
Summary: Season 9, SHIP ALERT. Jack is based in Washington, Sam has returned to the SGC, and both are equally happy with their recently established, 'long distance' relationship. Jack arrives in the Springs for a surprise visit. Snuggly and spicy.


A Welcomed Visit

**Author's Note**: Okay, so I know Jack's sold his house by the time 'Avalon' occurs, but I wrote this before finding such information out, and thought I'd post it anyway. But sorry for the lack of attention to newly-imposed canon.

Warning: Spice ahead! And S/J mush... lots of mush.

* * *

"Shit!" she swore, as her mug slipped from her hands and a split second later smashed over the floor of her lab.

Little flecks of hot coffee liquid were speckled over the bottom of her fatigue pants, but picking up the documents that had already been whipped from the desk to the floor, it was the least of her worries. All her due-to-be-handed-in reports were soaked in murky brown! Sam groaned and bent down to retrieve the shattered splints of pot from under her desk. Well, Jack had been right. He'd warned her years ago to use the plastic cups provided instead of her own mug while she was on base, and she'd argued that coffee just did not taste the same when contained by cheap plastic. At times like these, however, she wished she had listened to his unusual practical advice.

Jack.

She temporarily stopped. How was it that every little thing she did, from sitting at the briefing table to dropping a mug of coffee, reminded her of his charming, handsome smile? Stupid question. It was because she loved him, obviously. And she missed him.

She sighed. Ever since he had announced his promotion and moved to Washington she'd known how much she would miss him. It was, partly, why she'd transferred to Area 51 and respectively left the SGC. At first she hadn't been able to imagine the base and the atmosphere without Jack's presence. It was bad enough that he didn't accompany SG-1 on missions anymore! But then Cameron had contacted her and managed to persuade her to return. It was only when she'd observed the Stargate bursting into its wormhole's existence at SG-11's return that she had realised how much in that short space of time she'd missed the SGC and its memories. Life here wasn't so bad, without him.

There was a reason for that, though, and it was one that made her smile a little smugly as she went in search of a mop. Perhaps he wasn't _here_, but she definitely had a life _with_ him now—and that definitely wasn't so bad.

It was just frustrating that he was now situated in Washington and she remained in Colorado. Not that she was complaining. Their new relationship had now been going strong for three months and she felt happier than she had in a long, long time. Did it really matter that their vocal exchanges of love often occurred over the phone and their physical time together was limited to once every four, five or six weeks? Well, perhaps it did matter, but what was really important was their finally-confessed love for one another. One or two days out of forty was more than they'd ever had in their whole eight years of feeling for each other! And when they were together, things were more special than she could ever have imagined.

Things in life happen at the exact right moment sometimes. The phone rang. Speak of the devil, she thought with a tinge of delight, and quickly reminded herself that it could be anyone—not necessarily her lover. Nevertheless she instantly dropped the mop she'd just found (after rummaging through a small cupboard that hadn't been touched for several years, by the looks of it) and hurried over to pick up the receiver.

"Colonel Carter," she answered swiftly and a little too excitedly.

"Well, greetings, Colonel Carter," came Jack's easy voice from the other end. Immediately a surge of happy warmth spread from her fingers to her toes. It _was_ him. Usually he called at least three times a day when he wasn't around—morning, afternoon and night—but the time was 2pm and it was their first conversation of the day. "It's O'Neill." It sounded like he was trying to imitate Thor and she gave a welcoming laugh.

"Jack!"

"So right you are!" She could tell he was smiling. "Everything okay over there in the Springs?"

"Yeah, great. Though I notice you've had a tiring day…"

"Oh. Yeah," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry I haven't rung yet, I was called in today at five this morning… it's been a busy one, that's for sure."

"Anything I'd want to know about?"

"Nope, not unless you wanna be bored to tears."

"Try me."

"Sam!" he answered exasperatedly. "I didn't call you to discuss politics! I called partly to escape it!"

Feeling a little sheepish, she grinned, and encouraged playfully, "So, what would your ideal escape be?"

"Well, obviously, that's not possible," drawled Jack with a touch of humour, "seeing as though we're about—oh, I don't know how many miles apart."

She chuckled. But her amusement soon turned to a sigh as his words sunk in. "I miss you." Her voice was quiet and she wondered whether or not he could hear her well enough. "I was actually thinking of you… and us… before you called."

There was a small silence. "Sam—" he began awkwardly, but she swiftly reassured him that it was okay.

"I know, Jack. It's fine."

"Ohh, it's not. I know it's not." She heard him take a deep breath. "But, if it's any consolation, I miss you too."

"I also love you."

"And you know I love you too."

Grinning again, Sam said, "Our phone calls are beginning to get a little mushy, don't you think?"

"Oh, definitely. You complaining?"

"No," she replied fondly.

"Good."

Jack coughed briefly. "Besides the obvious—telling you I love you and miss you—I was actually wondering if you could do me a small favour tonight? If you're not busy…"

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Go on."

"There's a file on my desk at home—"

"You have a desk, now?" said Sam mockingly, knowing fully well he'd always had a desk because she'd seen it on numerous occasions throughout the past three months. She should have known. It was always wrong to cross paths with the sarcastic wit of Jack O'Neill.

"Yeah. You didn't know? Well, you wouldn't actually—the only interior of my house your eyes have really become used to is my bedroom," he teased.

A small blush crept into her cheeks even as she laughed. "That is such a lie!" she objected indignantly.

"Oh, come on, Carter." She could hear the grin in his voice. "You know you're only saying that for the people with the juicy job of recording the phone conversations." Lowering his voice, he added, "Although now you mention it, that desk isn't used as _half_ as much as it should be…"

Catching wind of his meaning, she raised her eyebrows and scolded, "Jack! I sincerely hope there isn't anyone recording this conversation."

"Oh, don't worry—I'm sure they've heard all the sex talk before."

"Moving on…" she put in hastily.

Chuckling, he continued, "As I was saying, there's a file on my _desk _at home—" he paused for his amusement and she conveniently rolled her eyes "—and I need its code. You think you could check up on the house tonight and get it for me? It's pretty urgent."

"Sure," she agreed. "Your wish is my command."

"Cool, you sound like a Goa'uld when you say that."

Her response was dry. "Thanks for that, sweetheart."

"No problem," he said pleasantly.

She absentmindedly twiddled with the phone cord. "When am I next going to see you again?" was her next question, a gentle question. It wasn't—and never was—accusing in any way. "Just so I know when to request days off."

"Sam, I honestly don't know," replied Jack, the bitterness evident. "I'm really sorry. Things are a bit chaotic here at the minute."

"It's okay," she assured him softly. "I understand."

"I promise it'll be as soon as possible."

"I hope so."

A small pause ensued.

"Are Danny and T missin' me too?" he asked with a playful sense of hopefulness. "Haven't seen them in a while, either."

"Of course they are. We all do. But hopefully not in the same why that I do."

"Now look who's talking—"

"General!" exclaimed Sam suddenly as Landry entered her lab, glimpsing with curiosity at the sea of soaked documents plastered to the wet floor.

"Uh, we back to ranks all of a sudden?" Jack sounded amused, and Sam smiled apologetically at Landry, who waved a hand toshow her he didn't mind.

"General Landry just walked in, Jack. I have to go."

"I gathered," replied Jack over the phone. "Hey, say hi to him for me."

Cringing in slight embarrassment, Sam sighed and said, "Jack says hi, sir," to which Landry nodded and blinked slightly.

"Jack, I'll speak to you later, okay?"

"Call me when you've found that document and I shall be forever grateful."

"Yeah, I will," she assured him, anxiously waiting to hang up. "Speak to you—"

"Love you, Sam."

Even though she smiled broadly, that was something Sam wasn't going to return in front of her new CO, and Jack was aware. So instead she opted for a soft, "You too." And the response, whether short or in full, was always genuine.

"Later, then, Sam."

"Yeah. Okay. Bye." After reluctantly hanging up she turned to face General Landry, her smile fixed for the entire day. "What can I do for you, sir?"

* * *

Wow, the means she'd go for this man she loved. There'd been an accident of some kind on the roads so the traffic tonight was mayhem. After a whole hour of utter gridlock she'd finally made it to Jack's house by 8pm, and, she had to admit, it was a little strange coming here and finding his truck absent from its usual parking space. The winter air nipped at her cheeks and she drew her coat tighter around herself as she made her way up the familiar stone-patterned pathway to his door.

She dove into her pocket for the spare key he'd presented her with a while back and let herself into an empty but domesticated home, after looking around at the garden and finding it still neat, if a little dull because of the season. It always was intact… although he did cheat a little bit by employing a gardener.

But as she closed the door behind her she froze in her tracks. The place was already bathed in dim yellow light. For a moment her mind failed to comprehend why there was soft music playing from the stereo in the corner, or why the fireplace was alive with warm, crackling and welcoming flames—or why a delicious aroma of cooking filled her nostrils. Jack? But he couldn't be here, could he?

Dumping the keys on the stand in the hall, she stepped up into the kitchen—and found that the table was set beautifully in the preparation for a meal. A candle flickered and exuded a relaxed atmosphere in the centre of glasses, clean plates and cutlery, as well as a bottle of expensive-looking, deep red wine. She moved forward and found that a red rose had been tied to the back of one of the chairs with a delicate ribbon. Carefully, she disentangled it, soaring with rich, pleasant love and a touch of shock as her eyes eagerly scanned over the small attached note.

_Dear Samantha,_

_Just a note to tell you how much I love you. _

_Love, _

_Jack_

_Ps: There is no document!_

She couldn't do anything but stand and read it over, amazed. This was so magnificently romantic. She set the note down and, as she did so, noticed a lavish picture frame delicately placed between the candle and the wine. She was so surprised and touched at the photograph before her vision that light tears of happiness prickled at the corners of her eyes.

She and Jack. Their arms were around one another and they were looking into each other's eyes, laughing about something; she immediately recognised the date to be Daniel's birthday when Jack had come up from Washington and they'd celebrated the day with a meal, but she hadn't known the images had yet been developed. This one was so natural. And she could see why strangers were starting to remark on their personal, content relationship with each other. It was fairly obvious that love shone in both of their eyes.

"You like the present, I take it?" said a low, friendly voice behind her, and she set it back on the table in its correct position.

"Jack… I love it," she replied honestly as she turned around to meet hisgentle cocoa-coloured eyes. He looked the same as ever, casual but rugged, relaxed and handsome, as he gestured for her to meet him halfway for a long-awaited hug. "This is absolutely wonderful! I—I—you're here!" stammered Sam as she wandered forward into his open arms. She held his shoulders andfound herself instantly wrapped up with his familiar warmth and presence. "I can't believe you didn't tell me you were coming!"

He leaned in to loudly press his lips to hers once, smiling. "We've been missing each other," he told her. "There's nothing wrong with surprising you."

"It—" she looked back at the table "—it's really beautiful." Throat quickly becoming constricted again with raw, aching love, Sam held onto his hand and squeezed gently. "Thank you so much."

"Well, the credit for the photo goes to Teal'c," Jack grinned suddenly. "After all, he did take it."

A soft laugh emerged from her tight throat and it danced joyously in her gaze.

"Here, I'll take your coat," he offered. She shrugged out of it as he carefully slipped it down her shoulders and welcomingly breathed in the scent of his cooking.

"Something smells wonderful, too."

"Hopefully, if all goes according to plan, ma'am, it should be ready for you within ten minutes."

She removed her shoes, setting them down in the hall, and as they made their way into the living room Jack wagged a finger and added, "Don't think the cooking's gonna become routinely, though. I've been practising loads for this. Even now, I'm _still_ nervous." They sat down on the couch together.

"I'm sure it'll be delicious," she smiled, "and even if it turns out to have gone disastrously wrong, it doesn't matter. Especially after all this effort."

"I'm glad you say that." For a moment they sat and smiled at each other with their hands held tightly between them. Sam was still trying to absorb the fact that he was _here_, not miles away in Washington. And then he reached for her wrist and murmured, "C'mere."

She scooted closer, more than willing to obey. As she leaned into his body and his arms engulfed her and held on tight she decided that he was definitely here all right—definitely with her. Stroking her cheek tenderly Jack kissed Sam on the mouth a few precious times before she relaxed on top of his frame and cached her face in the lean curve of his collarbone, inhaling his aftershave: musky with a mild hint of spice. He was wearing casual cargo pants with a plain grey cotton sweater that felt soft and smooth on her skin. It still tingled mildly from the icy coldness outside; the feeling was simple and soothing, and she relished his comfort.

Jack's free hand, warm and nice, crept up her own sweater and stroked the small of her back lightly. The other massaged the base of her neck. Oh God, she felt like she lived for these gentle touches. For the past eight years she really hadn't known what she'd been missing.

"Mmm."

She felt Jack smile against the top of her head. He always found her small, throaty sounds of pleasure amusing, she knew—even though his responses were actually acutely similar.

"I want you to enjoy tonight," he conversed seriously, and it was her turn to smile.

She remarked hopefully, "That sounds promising," and his quiet chuckle filled her with even warmer feelings. "No, really, it does. What've you got planned?"

"Oh, a meal, some wine… you've already found your rose… perhaps a bath…?"

"Mmm, a bath? Sounds good."

The hand on her back slowed and his ministrations grew tenderer. "After that, Sam… well, your world's your oyster."

She sighed with content. "I could think of a few things," she sighed dreamily. "How long are you here for, before you have to go back?"

He raised his other hand and delved into her hair, massaging. "You're not going to believe this… two weeks!"

"What!" exclaimed Sam, and she jerked her head up to look him in the eye, before he beamed, gently guiding her back down again. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you?"

"No, really. I sorta—may have—lied to you when I said things are busy at the moment." His tone of voice was a little apologetic—but as if she'd mind a lie like this one! "In fact, things are the opposite… quiet. If they call and desperately need me, I'll have to go back, but if that doesn't happen, which I'm most certainly sure it will not, I'm all yours for two weeks."

"That's great!" she smiled. "I really am glad you're here, you know."

Jack kissed her hair. "Me too. Now I better go see to our dinner..."

So Jack had risen to attend to his surprise dish. Or delicious dish, she thought. They were sat down at the table now, and his food was absolutely stunning. He had made a beautiful lasagne and in Sam it had provoked very strong curiosities.

"When did you learn to cook with your busy military life?" she queried as she ate. "I can barely manage toast."

"I didn't," he smiled. "This is the first time anything's actually turned out to be successful."

"Jack, eating this, I don't believe you."

"Nice to know I have a new talent, then. No, like I said, I've been practising."

"Okay," Sam said, swallowing and reaching for her wine glass, "when have you found time to practise making something as wonderful as this?"

To her surprise, Jack merely grinned and reached for the bottle. "More wine?" he offered, pouring his own glass. She smiled discreetly, held out her glass and waited for a valid explanation. The candle flickered between them, creating a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. "Oh, all right!" he relented after a minute of being scrutinised under her clear blue and suspicious gaze. "The cook in my department gave me a few lessons."

Sam stared. It was quite hard, really, as she suddenly had a very strong urge to laugh. Somehow, it was difficult to imagine her lover standing by a stove in a cook's tall white hat, a spatula in hand, after all these years of seeing him wearing scruffy BDUs with a P-90 clasped to his side. But she managed to keep a straight face. She had, after all, trained herself to resist laughter after a hundred or more SGC briefings, in which Jack, on numerous occasions, had made a totally inappropriate comment in front of General Hammond.

"Seriously," he enforced honestly. "I had a little chat with the cook, we got to know each other, and he showed me how to make... this."

"The cook. Right."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Oh, no, I—" She paused and smiled sweetly. "So it's the cook in Washington I should be thanking, then?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, refusing to rise to the bait.

"No, Jack, I'm kidding. This really is fantastic... thank you." She could tell he was trying to disguise how smugly pleased hefelt at her praise, so she dived into the dish with her fork when the photograph from Daniel's birthday caught her eye again. She gestured to it. "So the photo's for me to keep?"

Looking up and nodding, he said, "You betcha. I told Daniel to stick it in the post for me especially. He said it was a nice photo and, being the loving friend that he is to us both, he offered."

"It is nice," she agreed, smiling. "We look happy."

"Well, Sam, we _are_ happy… I hope?" he added quickly, fork stopping just before his mouth.

She slowly met his gaze and nodded. "Never happier."

"Good. I'm glad."

"Did you ever actually think we'd have this?" she asked then, frowning. "Eventually, I mean."

Confusion at the feelings that had built upover the past eight years still conflicted in her mind, sometimes. Occasionally it continued to feel as though what they were doing was wrong. Regulations were no longer an issue, of course, but for a long time they had stilted the personal development between them—and suddenly Sam would panic and ask herself if she was doing the right thing. But then she would think of how much Jack loved her, and how much she loved him. Everything always fit into place after remembering that simple but strong context.

Jack, appearing surprised at her question, thoughtfully chewed his lasagne. Eventually he glanced up and sighed. "I always thought it was inevitable," he declared quietly, holding her eyes so deeply that she could see his own, no-longer-significant feelings regarding the regulations wrestling beneath that calm dark brown. "I believed it was more than possible. But maybe it was just a hope." He swallowed and continued, "I mean, there's no way I would've had the courage to _tell _you how I felt. That damn Za'tarc machine nearly did me in. But I guess when it comes to emotions you're braver than me, Sam."

"Not very," she assured him softly, although they both knew that if she hadn't been the one to openly admit her feelings only a few months ago, they wouldn't be together now. They wouldn't be here, having dinner in Jack's kitchen.

They ate the rest of their meal with more light-hearted talk and gentle exchanges. If there was one thing she could pick out as her favourite aspect of his character, it would have to be his ability to make her laugh. His sense of humour was so unique. It was probably why she stood and gathered up the pots with a huge smile shining on her face. Jack blew out the candle on the table, and she was reaching out to twist the tap and turn on the water to wash the pots when—

"Leave them," Jack whispered in her ear, snaking his arms around her waist, pulling her in to lean against him. "We can do them in the morning."

As if by command she dropped the pots in the basin and turned into his embrace. "That's one of the best ideas you've ever had." Her words encouraged a slow smile as his fingers smoothed along the gap exposing the small of her back between waistband and t-shirt. She couldn't believe that such simple touches felt so good. His dark, wanting eyes drew her in to kiss him softly on the mouth. Her hand curled around the base of his skull, where the fingers played with his short, grey hair idly, and her lips captured his in a way that collaborated both affection and desire. One of his hands slid up between their bodies and cupped her cheek to steady her face as their kisses slowed and deepened; the other ran a trail over her stomach and hip, Jack pressing her into the digging edge of the kitchen cabinet, tongue gently probing—clashing with hers.

The next minute they pulled apart to supply their starved lungs with air. Jack sought her throat, kissing and suckling enticingly, wreaking havoc on her senses, and she could feel his reluctance when he pulled back and led her to the bathroom.

"Bath already run, hmm?" she said quietly, lightly touching his arms and moving up to his shoulders. "You are getting good."

He smiled serenely—oh, who was she kidding? It was God damn sexy—and began to help her undress, a task she earnestly returned. And eventually they were sinking into the deliciously hot and scented water which obscured the sight of their naked bodies in thick foamy bubbles. Sam sighed with contentment and relaxed against the hard headrest. She loved Jack's tub, always big enough for the both of them. It resembled a mini Jacuzzi. Their legs rested against the other's lightly and this intimacy combined with the ebb of the water's heat was ultimately sensual.

His tireless hands found her foot and, laying it atop of his chest, began to firmly and soothingly massage the weary tendons. "So," he said quietly, a familiar touch of amusement in his voice, "you had no idea I'd be here?"

"None," sighed Sam. "You had me completely."

"It'll be worth it," he assured her with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"I'm sure of it!" But her next words were serious. "It already has been worth it, Jack… and not just because of the meal, which was wonderful in itself. It's worth everything just being here with you."

"Now our conversations are getting mushy _off_ the phone," muttered Jack.

"Hey," she objected softly, "I was being serious."

He continued the work on her foot—easing and softening the tight muscles. "Yeah. I know."

"Mmm, Jack?

"Sam?"

Smiling, she murmured, "Don't let me fall asleep. I'm drowsy enough as it is," she said.

A broad grin spread across his face. "Why don't you come over here then?"

Smirking, she replied, "Too comfy." Then peeking an eye open and seeking his crestfallen face she laughed and sat up, the water trickling from the wet lower strands of her hair which unknown to her made her look even more sexyin her lover's eyes. "I'm joking, Jack." As he arched an eyebrow with an air of defiance, she knelt up to lean forward and rest her body over his, half-squeezing into the impossible small space between his hip and the tub's side. When she shifted to find a comfortable position the plastic made a loud noise against her skin and she giggled into his neck. "I think I need to lose a few pounds. What do you reckon?"

"I reckon that when we get married we should buy a house that has a humungous bathtub," grinned Jack and struggled to wrap an arm around her.

Finally she could relax against his chest. "Oh, so I'm that fat, am I?" she questioned playfully.

"Carter…" He shook his head and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You are not fat and you know it. You're beautiful."

Sam smiled suddenly and rested her palm flat on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beating. "When we get married…" she sighed, and glanced up into his eyes. "You think that'll happen?"

Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Jack raised his eyebrows, hesitating, and then he slowly replied, "Was that meant to be a hint?"

"Of course not." She shook her head. "But… well, it's something to consider, isn't it?"

"I thought we weren't gonna rush things…?" His brown eyes were wary and alert.

"Jack, relax, I don't mean get married now." She smoothed her hand down his torso, fingers playing with the dark traces of hair on his stomach. "I just… well, eventually, it could happen. I mean, I can't imagine breaking up with you after all these years of… loving you. And now we're finally together…" When he didn't reply her forehead creased in a slight frown—did he feel uncomfortable?—and she added hurriedly, "I know that's not necessarily how you feel, but—"

"No," he immediately assured her. "It is what I want, Sam. That's what I feel too. I was just thinking."

"About what?" was her quiet question. She was still lay in a way that allowed her to gaze up at him; but his eyes were fixed upon his toes peeking up above the water at the opposite end of the bathtub. His fingers, however, ran up her arm lightly; they spread the heat and bubbles over her skin which quivered pleasantly beneath his touch.

"I—" He scrunched up his face, confusedly, and Sam could see the insecurities before they even became vocal a moment later. "Would you really want to spend the rest of your life with me, the run-down and crumpled old soldier with a thousand skeletons in the closet?" He hesitated again. "'Cause if we were married, you'd be… well… doomed," he finished, the corner of his mouth turning up in a weak smile, one that did not fool her.

"Jack," she said softly, "I thought we'd squashed all this self-recrimination out of you?" When he opened his mouth but shut it again in lack of suitable answer, she gently took hold of his chin and raised her head to kiss him. "I love you. I've dreamed of spending the rest of my life with you for years. Nothing's changed. If anything, it's enhanced our feelings… and I wouldn't be doomed if we were married, Jack, I'd be lucky." She kissed him again lightly. "Very lucky to have you. Okay?"

Jack slowly nodded. Satisfied, she lowered her head again, continuing the sensual patterns over his stomach.

"So," said Jack quietly, watching her hand, "you wouldn't want to get married now?"

"I—" Pausing, she thought about the implications of marriage carefully. Things would certainly have to change, first. "If you proposed to me right now," she began steadily, "I know I'd say yes. But I do think we should wait a little while longer. And… well, for starters I'd need to sell my house. And we couldn't be married and have the long distance relationship we have now." She smiled. "I think we'd both go crazy. Something would have to give—either I'd have to move up to Washington with you, or—"

"No," he interrupted firmly. "I'd retire and come back up here. You're not leaving the SGC because of me."

"I already did," she pointed out. "Sort of, anyway."

"Yeah, and look what happened. They called you back because they needed you." Absently, he cupped a handful of bubbly water in his palm and trickled it slowly over her shoulder. "You're too valuable, Sam."

"Jack. You know you're important too."

He argued, "But they could easily replace me. You, on the other hand, are one in a kind with that supernova brain of yours."

"Well, we can wait," she said reasonably, planting a tiny, affectionate kiss on his chest. "There's no reason why we have to rush things."

"Mmm. You're always right."

A small silence followed in which she pursued with her relaxing caresses. The water lapped gently over the leg sticking out from the surface, wrapped around Jack's. But for some reason she could sense a strange tension emitting from him—as though it rang in the air. Frowning slightly, she glimpsed his face, but his eyes were once again unfocused and lost.

She stopped her ministrations and slipped her hand around his neck instead. "Jack?" At the sound of his name he seemed to come out of his trance. "Is everything okay?"

He kissed her head. "Perfect," he immediately answered, brushing stray hair out of her eyes and smiling. But she could tell something was weighing on his mind. She raised herself slightly and forced him to meet her gaze.

"What is it?" she questioned gently, and that's when he sighed—heavily. "It's okay," she soothed encouragingly. "Just tell me."

"Sam," he said with difficulty. "My photos… of Sarah and Charlie…"

Her brow creased. "What about them?"

"You—I mean, do you want me to take them down?"

Shocked, she merely stared at him for a minute. Why on earth would she want that? Charlie and Sarah had meant a lot to him—they still did, she knew—and the thought that she could restrict him from that appalled her.

"Of course I don't, Jack. Why would you think—?"

Another sigh. "I just thought… you might feel uncomfortable," he mumbled.

"Jack, listen to me," she said sternly. "Charlie and Sarah were part of your life for a very long time. They made you happy, and I know you cherish those memories. It was inevitable that they made you who you are today." Raising her eyebrows, she told him clearly, "I would never, ever strip you of those happy memories. Never. Understood?"

"Just wanted to be sure," he briefly explained. "I didn't want you to feel like—like you're second best, or… because you're not at all."

"I don't feel like that," she smiled. "Did you think I'd be jealous or something?"

"No! Not jealous, you're not the jealous type… just uncomfortable."

"Well, I'm not," Sam clarified firmly. "If anything, I'd love to know more about them."

Jack, to her surprise, nodded, but then he said, "Soon," and made a gesture that went back and forth between them. "But tonight is supposed to be about me and you, and I intend to keep it that way." With a new light in his eyes he reached up and stroked her cheek, before kissing her swiftly and firmly. "Come on, sit up. I'll wash your hair for you."

"I like the sound of that suggestion," agreed Sam, whose hip was beginning to hurt from the exposure to the bottom of the tub, and carefully got off him to perch between his legs.

Both deftly and gently Jack filled a cup from the small shelf above with glorious, warm water and tipped Sam's head back with a hand to her forehead to run it over her hair. He watched the water stream down her back, and traced its path down her curved spine with one tantalizing finger; something he repeated several times until her hair was wet completely. He squeezed a good quantity of shampoo into his hand and placed his hands on her head, and began to knead skilfully. Sam made a tiny sound of contentment in the back of her throat and leaned back against his frame as it quickly and thickly lathered up.

"You know, your hair won't actually end up very clean, looking at all these bubbles," he teased in a whisper soft breath in her ear, causing Sam to sigh with his purposely slow head massage.

"Never mind," she said breathily. "Just don't stop."

"I won't."

She was sure she was about to fall asleep any moment, so nice was the feel of _his_ hands washing her hair. Occasionally he would dip his head down to run his lips against her bare shoulder or neck, and she would sigh again, so relaxed and satisfied it was almost surreal. Jack washed away the shampoo with the cup after thorough attention and repeated the process with conditioner. Up, down, his strong fingers ranged. Inwards, across. If only she'd been suffering with a headache—she was sure this would be the perfect relief therapy. Finally, he reached over to the taps to take the showerhead and rinsed her hair with clean water. And afterwards he hugged her securely from behind.

"Thank you," she murmured. "That felt wonderful."

"It isn't over yet," he replied huskily, again lowering his lips to her exposed skin. They lingered, this time, brushing from one shoulder to the other in many light and sweeping, teasing and soft, caresses. Automatically Sam leaned forward to give him further access and he ran his hands up and down her smooth, wet back, still kissing her—the bathroom's soft light finding the moisture and creating a glistening sheen on her skin—and soon his kisses were becoming firmer and less tentative. They were open-mouthed now, his warm tongue teasing, and she shivered with blissful anticipation as he slipped around her waist and his fingers crept across her abdomen. The heat of the water was nothing compared to the unleashed sensuality provided by his mouth.

"Mmm, I missed this," she said lowly. Jack smiled and reached for the soap, lathering it up in his hands. He began to wash over every inch of her back, arms and shoulders, always rinsing afterwards. Then Sam unexpectedly turned in his embrace and curled her arms around his neck. In the next moment they were kissing gently, slowly. Lovingly. She nipped at his bottom lip before deepening the kiss and exploring his eager, hungry and familiar mouth, still tasting a vaguely rich flavour of the wine they had accumulated earlier on his sensual flesh. Their pace and rhythm at first had been steady—it always was to begin with. But now their kisses were becoming more urgent and desiring, filled with passion.

Tongues duelled in an equally-sided match and Sam was once again amazed at the way he could concentrate on their kiss while simultaneously never ceasing the arousing movements of his hands. They smoothed over her hips, stroked through her hair; touched her face. Never once did they rest. He was such an ardent, selfless lover that she perpetually found herself spinning in a world of sensations after only a few exhilarating moments. It didn't stop her from kissing him back, though—fiercely—and she in turn felt her way along the contours of his torso, free and longing.

She suddenly felt his softly touch her breasts; her moan of pleasure at the raw feelings building up was muffled against Jack's working lips. His soapy fingertips kneaded their peaks within the limited space between their bodies as he broke the kiss and attacked her neck with wanting caresses. She could feel his desire, both in the electric atmosphere and physically, and it only enhanced her own.

"Bedroom," he growled, panting and pushing her away, "we'll never move otherwise."

With a slow smile that betrayed her erratic heartbeat and the electric coursing through her veins Sam stood, careful not to slip, and stepped out, grabbing a couple of towels and wrapping one around her naked body. Jack followed and she laughed when he didn't bother with a towel but urged her forward down the hallway. They reached his bedroom and he practically propelled her onto the large king-sized bed—but she grinned wickedly and pointed to the window.

"Damn!" he swore and leapt up to wrench the curtains shut. As he did so Sam spread the spare towel over the pillow to stop it getting soaked by her drenched hair. He turned around, grinning, and dived onto the bed beside her. Smiling at the appreciative sight, she reached for his head. The face he held was an image of two mingled expressions she knew very well. The first, and perhaps presently less prominent, was humour—an old and central characteristic she had come to love in Jack O'Neill. The second was a slightly more recent familiarity, but one no less appreciated, and that was desire. Raw, open desire.

Two thick grey eyebrows were raised at the unexpectancy of her tranquil moment. "Sam? Something wrong?"

Sam answered him with a loving kiss to his cheek. "Everything's perfect."

"Good," he grunted, shifting to lie on top of her body. "'Cause in that case, there's nothin' stopping me."

A drop of water escaped from her hair and trickled down her cheek. Jack wiped it away tenderly.

"Jack, we're soaking your bed here," she warned him, smiling at her own stupid practicality. Why had she said that? It wasn't like she cared right now.

"Damn right we will," growled Jack. "It's a little overdue, don't you think?"

"Wha—oh!"

"And this is coming right off," he muttered, reaching across to oh-so-boldly deprive her of the loose coverage of the towel. She laughed again—but was swiftly cut off as his mouth crashed down on her own—and all of a sudden, unsurprisingly, the towel lay forgotten on the floor. And all that mattered in the minutes to follow, as Jack pulled away to kiss an intimate, kindlingpath down her body, was each other.

Sam and Jack… finally as one...

* * *

They lay together afterwards. Drowsy, contented. One of the pair at some point after their bodies had shuddered with pleasure had managed to pull the covers up around them both, and now they lay entangled, Sam wrapped up in Jack's embrace. She was snuggled against him with her face pressed into his warm and deliciously comforting bare chest. One arm pillowed her cheek and its hand cupped her shoulder whilst the other held her close. His fingers invented little patterns on her back in the tiniest of caresses. Trying to stay awake for at least a small while longer, Sam whispered his name. "Jack…"

"Mmm?" His reply rumbled against her side like the mildest of earthquakes.

"Thank you," she said.

"For the last half hour?"

Smiling, she pulled him just a bit tighter. "For that," she admitted. "And for coming here."

The sheets rustled as he changed position slightly to lie on his side; she remained comfortably nestled in his arms.

"I want to be here," he told her quietly. "You know I do. Every single minute while I've been stuck in that stuffy office in Washington I've thought of being with you." She felt his lips linger on her forehead as he murmured, "As long as I'm still there, that won't change."

"I'm glad you feel the same way."

"Carter, you know I feel the same way," he chided affectionately, and tucked the covers around her waist protectively.

Another sleepy smile touched her lips. "You know, if we do get married, you won't be able to call me 'Carter' anymore."

"Oh, Carter," said Jack, "you will always be Carter to me."

After a peaceful, quiet moment he stretched over to the bedside cabinet and switched off the lamp, and yet, as he did, it was those last words that really sunk deep in Sam's heart. It proved that he was attracted to her for who she was, and for what she was: a soldier and a scientist who had worked with him closely for several years and one whom he respected and in turn had come to love. They shared a bond that wasn't charred by their ordeals and experiences but enhanced. Ultimately, they were special.

Before a blissful sleep overcame her and she would drift on a sea of the happiness new to her life, she tilted her head so her lips were centimetres from his ear, and whispered, "Yes, sir."

And the smile she felt on her cheek and the small squeeze she earned herself was a good enough response. Because this was, and always would be, Jack.


End file.
